


the thaw

by pageleaf



Category: The Queen's Thief - Megan Whalen Turner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Courtship, F/F, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-09-11 14:42:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8988457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pageleaf/pseuds/pageleaf
Summary: Irene raises her chin. She made up her mind long ago. "I will marry the girl." It is, after all, the smart thing to do.(An alliance is made between Attolia and Eddis.)





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thehandsoftime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehandsoftime/gifts), [blindmadness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blindmadness/gifts).



> this is the first of what will likely be a series of scenes in an AU where irene and helen have an arranged marriage before either of them are queen. gotta do my part for this (ha) queen of pairings

It's the smart thing to do.

That's what Irene's father says, when his advisors kick up a fuss. "If you do this," the oldest says, "you hand the reins of our country over to those backwards—"

"If we do not do this," Attolis replies, "we hand Attolia over to Sounis, one way or another."

It isn't a secret that the young, virile King of Sounis is looking for a consort. He is a power-hungry man, Irene has heard from her attendants' whispers—the only source of news she is allowed. He wants all three countries on their little peninsula to be his, and he will stop at nothing to achieve this.

The previous week, the Attolian court had witnessed the arrival of the magus of Sounis. He had entered the throne room, stood (not knelt) in front of the king...and offered, on the behalf of Sounis, courtship the only daughter of Attolis.

Offered, like he was doing them all a favor. Irene tries not to be an angry person, but just the of it makes her want to break something.

It caused quite the stir, at court. Suddenly, everyone seemed to have an opinion on the plain, quiet daughter of the king, who previously had been as far from newsworthy as possible.

"Let her be of some good," one particularly harsh lord had said. "If she cannot be an heir, the very least she can do is give us a king."

_I am the heir_ , Irene thought bitterly at him. _Or at least I should be_. But of course she didn't say it. Female heirs have always been allowed in Attolia—in theory. In actuality, Irene has absolutely no power in her own kingdom, and there is nothing she can do about it.

"She doesn't have to marry Sounis," the advisor argues. "She is still young, there's time to make a match with a noble from our _own_ country."

"And what of the rumors that Sounis has also made an offer to Eddis's girl?" the newest advisor snaps. She is young, the only woman, and completely heedless of her relative lack of standing in this room, barreling over the weak wills of those around her. Irene likes her already, though she doesn't know her name. She doesn't know any of their names. At seventeen, this is the first council meeting she has had the privilege to attend. "If both Sounis and the princess of Eddis remain unmarried—"

"Precisely my point, Lady Skleros." The king bows his head, weary. "If Eddis and Sounis ally, it will be only a matter of time before all of us are absorbed into Sounis's crown."

"Hence why this is the perfect solution," Lady Skleros says. "Blocking Sounis's access to both of our countries, cementing a _positive_ relationship with Eddis—"

"Under the mountain princess's control? No thank you," one of the other men says contemptuously.

"It is that or Sounis's thumb," the lady says, her eyes flashing.

Irene sits in her chair by the window—they didn't include her at the table, didn't even think to—back straight and hands clasped loosely in her lap, serene and demure. Inside, she is seething. She isn't sure who she hates more: the men who speak so firmly against her, or those who are too afraid to speak at all.

"Eddis, at least, is a kinder ruler. Perhaps his daughter has the same quality."

"She does," the king says. "When I met Eddis's children two years ago, the girl was only thirteen, but she was already intelligent and respectful of our customs. She was a better heir than the crown prince."

"She will make a perfect heir to our kingdom, then," one of the old men spits, "while our princess becomes a puppet queen."

Irene's hands tighten around each other, like a stranglehold. "Do you truly think me so weak?"

The room freezes.

Oops. She said that out loud.

"Of—of course not—" one of the men stutters, and Irene snorts derisively.

"And stupid, too." She turns her head to look out the window. "It's a beautiful day outside. I wonder why I am in here with so many men who think so little of me."

She turns to fix Attolis in her gaze. "My king," she begins. She shakes her head. "Father. Why did you ask me to accompany you here if you won't ask me my opinion?"

"Dearest," her father says. He sounds surprised, but not displeased. Perhaps Irene has done him a disservice, by assuming he wanted her to be plain. "I was waiting for you to offer it."

Irene raises her chin. She made up her mind long ago. "I will marry the girl." It is, after all, the smart thing to do.

Her father nods.

"Now hold on—"

"But Your Majesty—"

"You _can't_ —"

"Your future queen has spoken," Attolis says coldly.

Irene smiles. Perhaps she can be the heir, after all.


	2. first meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irene doesn't know what to make of her. She looks like a soldier, and also a queen.
> 
> "Your highness," the princess says when she stands in front of Irene. "It's very good to see you again."
> 
> Irene swallows, her throat dry. "I'm glad to see you too, your highness."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's been forever! i'm going to try to work on this one a little bit more from now on :)
> 
> this is lowkey turning into a tropey romance novel, and i'm....not sorry :D
> 
> (ty grim_lupine for the speedy beta!)

Irene has met Eddis's girl several times over the years, though it isn't as if they've ever really spoken. Helen is younger than her by two years, which for most of Irene's life meant she wanted nothing to do with her, the gulf between seven and five and thirteen and eleven too vast. But more importantly—and has this really gone away?—Helen had something that Irene did not: agency.

Eddis is an egalitarian country; not perfect, but nearly utopian compared to the misogyny rife within Attolia's court. In Attolia, an eldest son is the unambiguous heir, but an eldest daughter is never given the chance, married away before she can claim the throne. Irene, therefore, has always known since her brothers' deaths, that even though she was now the eldest, she would be nothing but a minor princess until her engagement—upon which occasion she would become the betrothed of the _true_ heir. In Eddis, any eldest, of any gender, is capable of inheriting the throne. It isn't much of a surprise, when they cling so ardently to the old gods, with Hephestia at the helm.

Helen might not be the eldest, but each child is a contingency, in the event of a disaster. Helen, therefore, received the education of an heir. Helen could speak Archaic fluently by age eleven. Helen has full access to her father's library. Helen trains with her guard daily; Helen can use a sword, and a gun.

Irene reads, when she can get access to an interesting book, but that isn't often. Most of the time, between dinner and chaperoned serene, uneventful rides, she sits in the royal gardens, surrounded by roses. She doesn't do much else, ever conscious of even the slightest appearance of impropriety.

Perhaps that is the real difference between the two of them.

A knock at the door jolts Irene out of her thoughts. She touches trembling hands to her wet, unbrushed hair, forgotten in her anxiety, and realizes she's been sitting motionless, staring out the window, for the past ten minutes.

The knock repeats. "Your highness?" Phresine.

"Yes, come in," Irene says tightly, and turns her face away from the door when it opens. "I've just sat down to braid my hair," she says. She shivers in her damp shift, and reaches up to at least pretend she isn't lying.

Phresine comes up behind her and gently bats away her fingers, taking over the task. "The Eddisian party has sent a messenger ahead. They will be here in thirty minutes."

Irene wonders distantly whether she will be ready in time, or whether she will meet her future wife half-dressed, still shivering with wet hair. But does it matter? It would be appropriate, for how vulnerable she is, right now. For how much of a farce the rest of the country seems to think this arrangement.

"Irene," Phresine says quietly, and Irene blinks away startlingly hot tears.

"I'm not upset," she says, and it's the truth.

Phresine finishes combing through her tangles and sections the hair off into thirds. "You're scared."

Irene sighs. "Am I being a fool?" she asks wearily. "Am I naive, to hope that she will treat me well, just because she is a woman?"

"She is by all accounts a good person," Phresine responds. "But remember, highness, even if that were not true," she adds, "you are the heir, and she is not."

It was the most reassuring thing she could have said.

 

The princess of Eddis is not beautiful by any known metric, but she is arresting. Her nose is crooked from being broken, and that itself is fascinating to Irene. Her hair is so curly that she could have forgotten to wear her circlet, and no one would know. By appearance alone, she could be a member of her entourage, rather than its head.

But her royal birth is unmistakable in the way she carries herself: shoulders back and relaxed, chin up, confidence radiating from her like a perfume. The riders trailing after her—guards, courtiers, and relatives tagging along—gawp at the splendour of the Attolian palace, frigid but sparkling, but the princess's eyes don't waver from her path. Except, it seems, to nod at the people who line the road to the palace, gracing the children with a sweet smile, all the more dazzling for its openness.

Irene doesn't know what to make of her. She looks like a soldier, and also a queen.

"Your highness," the princess says when she stands in front of Irene. "It's very good to see you again."

Irene swallows, her throat dry. "I'm glad to see you too, your highness."

The princess's eye falls to Irene's right hand, limp at her side. "May I?" she asks, low enough that no one can overhear.

Puzzled by the request, Irene lifts her hand.

Gently, the princess takes it in her own and bends over it, kissing the knuckles.

It's not an unfamiliar gesture: many men have tried it before, though none have ever _asked_. Horrifyingly, Irene feels her cheeks heat.

The princess straightens, releasing Irene's hand. Irene touches her tingling knuckles with the fingers of her other hand, stunned. The princess catches the gesture and smiles, quick and bright.

And then she's gone, greeting Irene's father with a polite bow.

Irene cradles her hand to her chest, her heart racing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, on twitter as @peakcaps and tumblr as @pageleaf if you need me :)


End file.
